


If Brokenness Is a Work of Art

by DeductionIsKey



Category: Avengers: Age of Ultron - Fandom, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) - Fandom, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Gen, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, The Avengers Are Good Bros, Time Travel, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-03-07 11:30:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18872314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeductionIsKey/pseuds/DeductionIsKey
Summary: The universe is wrong. They’re wrong.They try to gently grab him now, softer. They’re strong, whoever they are. But he’s stronger. He can change it. He can change everything.(Not again.)With a grip like death and hope that outburns all the grief in the world, Peter grabs that stone from Tony’s burnt gauntlet, and Peter wishes.The world dies, and so does he.And then, he breathes once more.





	1. Stop It Now (It Gets Worse)

**Author's Note:**

> A TimeTravel fix-it? Me? Never~

“It is not flesh and blood, but heart which makes us fathers and sons.”  
― Friedrich Schiller

-

Peter can’t feel his legs. They wobble underneath him as he creeps away from the dissolving bodies of those rotten men -aliens?- and he watches as their organs, eyes, hair and claws, turn to ashes, dust, and then ashes again. Dark as this wasteland he had found himself on is, he can’t help but admire the beauty of that sight.  _ Did we win?  _ He wonders and runs further away from a still-dissolving, angry-looking alien. Desperation made people, alien or not, do really, really unthinkable things, and he suddenly wanted to just run from everything, including those panicked eyes. 

He examines himself as he jogs, half-limps in that battleground, and winces at a particularly bruised spot on his ribs. A fracture, maybe? He exhales, a suddenly painful sound, and stops. He closes his eyes once and breathes. It was okay, he was alive, everything was fine. Mister Stark could always-

He stops when he hears the stifled, choked cry that comes from five, six hundred feet away. Death still coated the air, and he prepared for the sight of any one of the many fighters in this war of worlds to be there, fallen. 

Somehow, it’s still a punch in the gut when he sees the broken,  _ fried  _ suit of iron. He staggers, and then just runs, his rib magically healed by adrenaline. Nothing matters except getting to that spot. It was impossible, it couldn’t be. Not, not again. 

_ Not again.  _

But no matter what he truly thinks he wants, he still is greeted by the site he thought he would find only in his dream. Mister Stark -  _ Tony -  _ dying. Broken, his face burnt horrifically. His dad was dying. Again. 

He kneels down desperately next to him, and puts his hand on Tony’s shattered form. His head aches, his bones and muscles quake. Peter wants to scream at him,  _ you promised, you promised _ . But Tony never promised anything. Peter never assumed he’d have to. That was a mistake. 

His vision grows dark as he desperately trying to fix Tony’s armour back into something truly functional and alive. He tries to rebuild his father’s heart with only his hands. It flutters and then grows weaker. Desperation, shattered hope and death flooded through him. 

_ Please, please, _ he tries to cry, but the universe only looks on, silent and cold.  _ Not again, not now,  _ he begs. Not so soon. Not like this. 

“Mister Stark- we, we won, Mister Stark,  _ please, Tony- _ ” Tony’s eyes pierce Peter’s, but his cries don’t bring anything back but an impossibly small quirk of a sad smile. “I’m sorry.” and it’s hopeless and hoarse. 

“ _ Peter-”  _ And now someone tries to grab him,  _ pull  _ him away from Mister Stark, and he yanks himself out of their grip and tries to hold Tony tighter. Not today, not again. He puts his head on Tony’s chest. There’s still breath. Still hope. 

Tony’s arm clinks as Peter holds him, and Peter would scarcely notice if not for the reflection of something that shines into his eyes. A green, hazy glow coming from that burnt gauntlet, and suddenly, Peter has hope again.

“Peter, it’s okay, he’s gone _ , Peter,”  _

Screams. 

Platitudes. 

Death. 

The universe is wrong.  _ They’re  _ wrong.

They try to gently grab him now, softer. They’re strong, whoever they are. But he’s stronger. He can change it. He can change everything. 

_ Not again.  _

With a grip like death and hope that outburns all the grief in the world, Peter grabs that stone, and Peter  _ wishes.  _

The world dies, and so does he. 

And then, he breathes once more.

—

The first thing he notices when he grabs the stone is the smell of his hand burning to dust. It hurts, but Peter lets the tears fall and grips harder. His grief overwhelms the pain as he grabs Tony with his other hand and tries again.

He remakes his father’s arms, hands, lungs. Gently, he twists out and remakes atoms of a long-ago Tony, a stronger, younger one. All of Tony’s history is inside his hands now, so when he looks at his mentor’s heart, he sees so much. Infant Tony’s heart, small but strong. Teenage Tony’s heart, clogged with his immature, mad parties. Arc-reactor Tony, post-op Tony. The green glow that surrounds them drowns out whatever might have been there before.  _ Just you and me now,  _ he thinks and makes his mentor’s heart stronger than before. 

It’s a long and terrible work, but he has time. 

-

Hours, seconds, minutes pass as Peter weaves into living tissue new - or rather, old - cells that replaced all that his mentor had lost. His hand burns, but he tries to reverse that too, holding the degradation at bay with a scarcely there glare toward the offending limb. It has to work, he thinks to himself. He doesn’t know what he is going to do if it doesn’t.

Slowly, and almost softly, Peter rebuilds what’s his. 

Tony’s breathing levels out, his heart grows stronger. His pulse, once stagnant and falling, quickens. His eyes flicker, and his arms, fixed but still so pale, shiver. It’s only then that Peter looks around.

Where is he?

It’s dark, but light. Cold, but blisteringly hot. Nothing and everything surrounds him, with voices crying from every direction. “Peter!” he hears, and turns. Ben?

Images crawl around him, yet spin so terribly fast. They’re faded and yet so terrible fresh, bringing back gunshots, laughter and so much pain. It’s then that he realizes all at once that he has no idea how to get back to where they came from. 

Peter had pulled himself away from all the people who had tried to stop him from helping Tony. He had thrown himself upon Tony and ripped them both away to some place where the Avengers wouldn’t be, at least not then. 

As a result, he hadn’t the faintest idea where he now was. Where he and Tony, comatose and pale, but blessedly  _ alive,  _ were. But because Peter was good and Tony was strong, he closed his eyes to wish desperately once more. 

_ Take us to the Avengers.  _

And so, they go.


	2. Crying for a Crow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “One chance, E.T!” Tony yelled toward the smoke. “Or you’ll find the most American greeting that this side of the Earth can give ‘ya.”
> 
> “Wait! Don’t shoot!” They froze. Was that a kid?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all made me so excited that I had to post my second chapter today! Third is in the works right now, hopefully, I'll start an upload-schedule soon!

An important thing to remember is that, once, the Avengers were a family. 

It was for such a short period of time, barely a year, but that year was filled with the growth of something more than just a team. It starts out small, as all family or friends do. But soon, looks started. The realization that one of them had just goodnaturedly laughed at a well-meant ribbing of the other because deep down, they knew that it wasn’t truly meant. The thoughts of  _ I might like all of you  _ that slowly evolved into something more. Friendship can die though, and family can break apart. Ultron had destroyed more than JARVIS and countless cities. He had broken that soft, unspoken, budding trust that could have been so much more if only given the time.

_ Peace in our time.  _

By the time they had killed the last Iron Leaguer, the Avengers were no longer a family. Tony no longer felt comfortable with people in his lab, afraid of the pointed looks and suspicion. He’d lost Bruce, and he had no one on the team that he truly felt connected to now.  Steve no longer tried to schedule so many team activities, busy with his apartment and content to never contact anyone unnecessarily. Barton, with his family’s safety so close to compromised, now desperately watched over them, his mistrust of anyone but Natasha growing with each day. 

Even before the Media-Dubbed ‘Civil War’, the Avengers stopped being a true team. Teams trust one another, put their lives on the line for one another. They know what the others are likely to do, they know that whatever they do, they do together. 

_ No trust, liar.  _

So when Peter had clung to his mentor and directed that impossible stone to  _ take us to the Avengers,  _ it did. It took to him to one of those rare, short months in their decade-long history where they actually were a team. 

It seemed so long ago. 

_ The sun’s getting real low.  _

_ - _

“How’s he doing?” Bruce’s head was still pounding as he took a few steps toward Tony, who, as always, seem to vibrate with self-assured intensity. The confidence of a man who knew who he was, knew what he knew, and got what he wanted. Which, according to him, was quite a lot. 

“Oh, unfortunately, he’s still Barton,” and it was sarcastic too, as it always was. Still, Bruce could easily pick up that small, almost-fondness in his tone. Like the fondness you had for a scruffy, wired stray cat who kept showing up on your doorstep, hissed at you and then claimed your house for its own. Which was a rather fitting analogy for what they really were doing to Tony right now. 

“That’s  _ terrible _ ,” He knew what Tony was trying to do. He always did it after their increasing number of missions, and especially did it after the Hulk was used for a long amount of time. It was a gentle sort of deflection that turned the silent air in the room into a comfortable, humorous one rather than how it would normally be, full of unsaid things and green memories. Bruce knew Tony would never admit it, but he thinks Tony really has the biggest heart of them all. 

But then again, Cap could probably give him a run for his money, and Tony had… a lot of money. 

Just for a second or two, they stand there, looking at nothing in particular. Just, thinking. It’s… nice. Nicer then Bruce ever thought a silent Tony could be. He can’t help but smile, just for a second.  _ How was this his life?  _

But then Tony clapped his hands together definitively: one, two. “He’s fine. He’s thirsty.” He starts walking with that constantly confident and determined air. Bruce trailed behind slightly, knowing without speaking that Tony intended him to follow. Two months ago, he would have been utterly clueless regarding Tony’s expectations. Just another symptom of what this team could turn into. Maybe something that could… last. For once. “Alright. Look alive JARVIS. It’s play time. We’ve only got a couple of days with this joystick so let’s make the most of it. Update me on the structural and compositional analysis.” 

Tony looked back at Bruce, who had looked once more toward where Barton was repairing his wound, sensing his uncharacteristic reluctance to follow him into the room of joy and science. “You and Helen can talk shop for, like, five minutes but then I want my science bro back in the lab, ‘kay?” Bruce smiled, and then nodded slightly. 

“See you in five,” and the tension that had been building up in Tony’s shoulder slumps and dissolves. Bruce did truly want to accompany him. Even with all that confidence, Bruce finds that Tony is never quite certain people are completely genuine with their emotions or desires. Probably a result of his upbringing.  _ But that’s not your business,  _ he chides himself and goes into the makeshift hospital room. 

“She’s creating tissue,” He says to Natasha’s well-hidden look of confusion. That too, he’s been getting better at telling how she was really feeling behind that mask of hers.  _ It might even develop into something-  _ He stops before his thoughts grow even more unrealistic. Not in his wildest dreams. If the Hulk had broken one thing deep within Bruce, it was his faith in those dreams. 

“Oh, he’s flatlining. Call it. Time?” and then those, slightly depressing, thoughts glide away as Tony walks in. Tony always seemed to demand your full attention, whether or not you wanted or needed to give it. It was a blessing in disguise sometimes. 

“No, no, no. I'm going to live forever. I’m gonna be made of plastic.” Once again, Bruce wondered who Clint truly was. Only Natasha seemed to really know him, and while that bothered his natural curiosity somewhat, it made sense. Lately, Clint seemed to be lightening up though, and he could only wonder if he would find out more about his origins soon. Soon. 

“You’ll be made of you, Mister Barton. Your own girlfriend won’t be able to tell the differe-” 

“Sir, I must inform you of an approaching unidentified objec-”

The world exploded. 

Faintly, he heard the terrified cries of Helen Cho as she tries to instinctively shield Barton from the brunt of the glass that was flying around them. Natasha was suddenly Black Window again, her face deadly. Tony was already in his suit, sending orders to JARVIS to lock all the entrances to the tower.  _ When did that happen?  _

“You were out for a minute, Banner. You feeling green?” The metallic tinge in Tony’s voice echoed dully in his head as he sluggishly processed that. A concussion? He shook himself mentally, getting his bearings.

“Nah, Tony. We’re… we’re good. What  _ was that?”  _ Smoke was billowing out of hallway they had just been in minutes before, and the alarms blaring made his headache even worse. He swallowed dryly and shoved down the growling monster in his chest.  _ Not now,  _ he hissed back, and the Hulk subsided. 

“Something I’m _so_ not equipped to deal with,” Helen said definitely, already checking over Barton’s state with slightly trembling hands. Clint was out too apparently. Maybe it was for the best, considered he had a half-healed gaping wound in his side. This threat, whatever it was, probably wouldn’t help his recovery time. 

Tony looked gravely at Natasha and then back at Bruce. “Stay here, Cho. JARVIS will bolt-lock the door once we leave.” Bruce barely caught the gun that was thrown to him by Natasha, looking dumbly up at her. 

“For protection.” She explained, and then: “But if it gets down to it, we might need.. the other guy.” 

Bruce sighs quietly. “Yeah, sure.” Tony nodded once and then lifted his repulsors slightly. “I have a feeling this is going to cost me a lot in property damage.” He quipped, and then, with one last sigh, the doors opened. 

-

Whatever Bruce had been expecting behind that door, more smoke was definitely one of the lesser exciting ones. But it still caused his eyes to sting as the broken ceiling shards and smoke fills his throat, causing him to cough violently upon stepping out. Tony, with his now-envious oxygen tank, barely noticed, as he looked around with laser-sharp focus. 

“There.” He said and pointed toward the more concentrated area of smog-like air. “JARVIS is reading life signs.” Natasha cocked her second gun - how many of those did she have? - and gestured to Bruce to do the same. He did with a reluctant sigh.  _ This day really is turning out terrible.  _

They advanced as quietly as a top spy, a clunky suit of armour and a nervous nerd could, and Bruce covered his increasing coughs with his arm as they got closer and closer. Tony’s repulsors grew stronger and stronger. Natasha aimed. Bruce... pointed toward the smoke.

“One chance, E.T!” Tony yelled toward the smoke. “Or you’ll find the most American greeting that this side of the Earth can give ‘ya.”

“Wait! Don’t shoot!” They froze. Was that a  _ kid?  _ “Please, please, you’ve got to help me!” 

Tony looked at Natasha once, and then toward the smoke again. This was one of those rare times he found himself utterly lost. Natasha gestured toward Tony’s arms silently, and he creased his brow, confused.  _ What?  _

“If I may interrupt, sir, I believe Agent Romanoff is referring to your newly upgraded ventilation systems.” JARVIS. What a life-savers. 

“Activate external fans, J.” Tony ordered, and then hold his breath as the fans in the hallway began to do their jobs - which should be automatic,  _ come on _ . The smoke starting clearing, and when Tony finally got a good look at what was the cause of that smoke, all the preparation in the world wouldn’t have helped him. 

It was a boy, burnt and bloody, cradling a prone figure in his hands. Natasha gasped softly at something next to her, and he saw the cause of the huge crater. A green stone - why is it  _ always _ stones? - lay right next to the boy. Bruce approached cautiously the obviously panicked teenager with an equally shocked, but a controlled calmness that caused the boy’s panicked look to lessen just very so slightly. “It’s okay, I’m a doctor. What’s wrong?” 

“You don’t... recognize me? Rhodey, it’s me. Peter.” The boy was looking desperately at Tony now, and he frowned. How did this kid know Rhodey? 

“Hate to disappoint kid, but War Machine ain’t here.” He propped his face mask open and tried to flash a charming smile. “It’s the real deal here.” 

The kid gasped a strangled cry and shoved himself and his buddy - was he even alive? - desperately away from Tony, hugging the figure closer to his chest. “ _ No. _ ” He said and went limp again. “That’s, that’s wrong,  _ no, no, no _ -” 

That was... interesting. 

“Hey,” Natasha said quietly creeping closer to the traumatized teen. It was a soft, comforting lisp that coated her words, one you would use for shock-victims. “ _ Hey. _ You said you and your guy needed some help? What’s wrong with him?” 

The kid looked up again and rolled over the hurt man to show him to both of the figures next to him. Tony watched Natasha and Bruce’s faces as they caught the first glimpse of that figure. They gasped, and Tony came closer. “What is i-” 

His world fell apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments bring me such joy! Even if it's just a keyboard smash, I love love love them!


	3. Bring Back What Once Was Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was obviously panicking though, he could read the signs of someone barely holding it together. His hand cradled in his hands, his feet tucked deep into himself. It made him look outrageously small and just… young. Tony’s face softened as he looked the kid over. (Who is he to me?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Three with a shot of Panicked!Peter coming at ca'  
>  If all goes well with the muse, Chapter Four should be up by at least Tuesday? Some of it's already written, so we'll wish for the best!

“Now  _ this,  _ I can handle.” Cho said, wheeling out another bed for the figure Natasha and Bruce were gently carrying in “I need a real hospital though, this isn’t just a quick-fix wound. This man looks like he’s severely dehydrated, exhausted. I’ll need IVs, consultants and lot of tests.” 

“Sorry, but a public hospital is  _ not  _ happening,” Tony said sharply, out of his suit and  _ officially ticked off _ . His voice seemed far away and clipped even to his own hearing. “Is it just me that’s freaking out or- wait, nevermind! It’s totally normal for your doppelganger to just show up in a fiery crater with a prepubescent kid!”

“Tony,” Natasha says and it’s almost as clipped as his. “We don’t have the luxury of freaking out right now. Doctor Cho knows what needs to be done, let her do it. In the meantime, we should secure the other source of information who’s actually  _ conscious _ .” 

Bruce nodded, even though seconds before he’d been panicking in the corner of the med-room.  _ Good recovery, _ Tony notes, and then: _ can’t say the same for me. I looked like burnt, old sausage!  _ And that’s a sentence he’d never thought he’d say.  __

“The others should be here soon, I’m surprised they’re not here already,” Bruce said it so calmly, Tony wanted to scream.  _ This wasn’t normal! _ He was starting to feel like  _ he  _ was the one reacted abnormally. 

“I think Colonel Rhodes and Cap were out getting food for the party tonight.” And then Tony remembered. The  _ party.  _ This morning seemed so long ago now. It’d barely been an hour if that. Wait… 

“Why would they need food? I hired catering!” He was probably overreacting. But, to be fair, he was going through an existential crisis. Natasha looked incredulously at him. Then Bruce shrugged, acting like this was a totally normal thing to focus on at a time like this. 

“I guess Steve doesn’t like caviar or something.” Natasha rolled her eyes. 

“ _ Guys _ .  _ So  _ not the point. What are we doing about  _ that _ ?” She pointed quickly to the small ball in the corner. “He’s been freaking out for about as long as Tony has, and honestly, I don’t think he’s up to much talking.” 

The kid, teenager,  _ whatever,  _ was shaking as they talked. Blood and dust covered his whole face and his body shook of tension. He was still clothed in that… suit? that he had arrived in earlier, and his hair was so covered in soot that Tony couldn’t tell whether it was black or brown. He was obviously panicking though, he could read the signs of someone barely holding it together. His hand cradled in his hands, his feet tucked deep into himself. It made him look outrageously small and just…  _ young.  _ Tony’s face softened as he looked the kid over.  _ Who is he to me?  _

“Hey, kid.” He said, advancing slowly towards him. Somehow, he knew that this kid would react best to his presence. “You okay?” 

Tony didn’t know what he expected, but he still had to visibly stop himself from flinching back when the teen jerked his head up. His eyes were red-rimmed and hopelessly lost, and the way he looked at Tony… 

Like he had all the answers in the world. Like he would just… fix everything that wasn’t okay. Complete trust, woven into that child’s eyes, along with something so broken that it made Tony’s arc-reactor pulse unnaturally by mere proximity.  

_ Who is this kid?  _

The kid sniffled and struggled to draw himself up to a more normal, seated position. “Yeah. I’m… fine. Great, good,” he drew back into himself.  _ “This isn’t right- ‘s not what I - I meant to do…”  _ A strangled whisper. 

“What you meant to do?” Tony pressed, and he took a small step closer. “What was that exactly?” He flinched again, and Tony’s tone changed into more of a desperate one. “Ya’ got to give me something, kid.” 

“Peter.” He looked up at Tony again, and his face was still so impossibly sad. “My… my name’s Peter.” Louder this time. 

Tony smiled a soft encouragement. Or, maybe not?  _ Wow, I’m terrible at this. Let’s never have kids, yeah?  _ “That’s- good. Progress. Peter, I know you’re scared, but we -  _ I -  _ need to know who that is, and what’s wrong with him. Can you do that for me?” 

Peter laughed sharply, lasting only for a second before he looked over to where the.. other Tony lay in place of a now-awake Clint. “ _ Who? _ It’s kind of obvious isn’t it?” 

“Actually kid, it _ isn’t _ ,” and now Tony was the one panicking. Nothing made sense after New York, hehe couldn’t… Oh gosh. His vision tunnelled, his breath became short. He was in the portal, it was cold, so cold - all those stars, Earth was so small and helpless, nothing will ever stop them from winning, _ slaughtering everyone _ \- 

He stumbled and tries to breathe. All of a sudden, arms - strong, who? - were gripping him. “ _ Tony-”  _ they were saying, and then, “ _ FRIDAY, weather report.”  _

There was no FRIDAY to answer, but JARVIS obliged. “It is currently seventy-three degrees Fahrenheit, with precipitation at the possibility of 15%, and Humidity at 75%.” Tony’s breath evened out. The monster in his chest subsided. “The wind is currently at a speed of fifteen miles per hour, with a possibility of higher pickups later tonight.” He could see again. 

And the kid was… looking at him. With more worry then before, if that was possible. His arms were just slightly hovering above Tony’s, not gripping down too hard, but not totally gone. He looked like he was struggling to be calm again, just for Tony’s sake, to calm  _ him _ . It made his heart ache even more.  

What Tony saw in that gaze now, though, was more terrifying than before. Or rather, what he now understood. Because he hadn’t even told Pepper about his made-up treatment of his own attacks, which had been getting worse and worse since Vanko. Hadn’t told her that people just gripping onto him now terrified him. Hadn’t known himself really, until now.  _ But for this kid to know that…  _ wait, what? 

“How do you know about FRIDAY?” Tony said, pushing himself away slightly from the boy, suddenly uncomfortably close to a total stranger. He got up, not wanting to be on that floor a second longer. It was weakness… and vulnerability he wasn’t ready to show in front of whatever - this could turn out to be. “I haven’t even activated her yet.”

“Wait, really?” Peter’s face was full of surprise and then, resignation. He’d calmed down slightly, ironically considered where they were a second again. “What - what year is it?” 

And now Bruce jumped in, causing both Tony and Peter flinched slightly like they’d forgotten about the other occupants of the room, who had rushed forward when Tony had collapsed but stayed put for the rest of this double-sided, unconventional interrogation. “What year do you think it should be?” He inquired with bright eyes despite himself, and the whole room, even half-dead Clint, seemed to lean forward in anticipation. 

“Well, it’s complicated?” It came out sheepish. 

“Well, uncomplicate it.” Helen snapped, still tapping furiously on a Starkpad in the corner. “Because I have a patient, who,  _ by the way _ , still needs treatment, and not a single idea on how to start.” 

Peter straightened again and winced as he got up and walked slowly over to Helen’s post. “I tried to fix most of it, but I think his brain got a little burnt. To be honest, I kind of let the stone do most of the work. I just… asked nicely?” He sent a sorry, half-meant smile toward Helen, who was looking at him incredulously. 

She looked toward the heavens with a muttered, exasperated prayer, and then stared down Bruce and Tony. “One thing's for sure, I need X-Rays. Where?” 

Tony nodded and looked toward JARVIS’ nearest speaker. “Where’s the nearest Shield Med-Lab, J?” 

“It is approximately 117 miles away, sir.” 

Tony looked toward Helen. “Is that enough time?” 

She looked grim. “It has to be.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments? Kudos? I love 'em!


	4. We Don't Get to Choose Our Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t play with me, Tony. Not with me.” He looked toward Bruce again, and his face was as solemn as it was sad. “You don’t have to pretend anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit shorter, so apologies for that, I just thought that the part I stopped at was a good place to cut it off. Between this and my other fic Dust to Dust, I am submersed in Irondad… The next update should be up in hopefully a week or so, if all goes to plan...   
> Enjoy!

He was floating. 

Dully, Tony watched the colors spin around him, causing his half-opened eyes to glaze over. They’d won, he’d won. He was struggled to feel his arms and hands now, but he knew that if he was able to look down, he wasn’t quite sure if they’d be there at all. Not now, at least. 

He thought he’d find dying more scary, he’d dreamt about it enough. But surrounded by his wife, by his kid - who would carry on that mantle, be such a good brother to Morgan - that was a good way to go. He was ready. 

_Part of the journey is the end._ He thinks, and tried to breathe his last. His eyes shut, his smile faded. _Bye, Pep._

_I can rest now._

But then - nothing. Nothing changed, but it seemed like something did. He tried to open his eyes again - _Morgan?_ His peace stuttered, his thoughts trailed off. But he was so tired… so tired. He kept his eyes closed, and dreamed about the end. No colors this time. 

_They’ll be okay._

-

When Tony wakes up again, his first thought is - _oh, come on._ His second thought was less old-manish, and was - _man, Peter looks wrecked._

Because that’s what he wakes up to, Peter, gripping his hand tighter then he thought Cap could even achieve. The air smelled… clean? Disinfected? Not important. 

He was in a bed. A white bed in a room with white walls and white tables. It made his stomach curl. He hated hospitals. He turned toward Peter quietly, silently. He was staring off into space, looking dazed and confused. “Hey, Pete.” He says, and it’s soft. 

Peter’s head snapped up to his, and his face - oh, it _melted_ . “Tony,” he gasped, and suddenly Tony couldn’t see much more than a bundle of dirty-smelling clothes and  a crying child. “I missed you _so much_ , Tony, I - I messed up-” 

“Hey, hey, _hey_ ,” Tony said, startled at such an intense reaction. “What’s wrong, Pete? I’m here- _hey,_ ” He puts his hand on Peter’s cheek and pushed back his fallen strands of hair, reminiscent of the many messy hair-days of Morgan. _My kids,_ he thinks, with all the fondness of an old goat. “Slow down, Peter. What’s wrong? What’d you do?” 

“That’s what we’d all like to know.” and it comes from the entrance of the room. It sounds - it _can’t be_ - 

A decade-younger Stark is staring at him like he was the most impossible thing in the universe. Tony can’t help but agree with him. 

-

The hospital light flickers, and Tony looks at his younger - so _young_ \- self. His hair isn’t speckled with grey, his face doesn’t contain nearly as many lines. As stressed as the other-Tony seems to be, his air is generally care-free. Even with this more-or-less complete picture though, Tony can’t help but wonder what’s… missing. 

“Who are you?” Tony can easily recognize the hysteria on his own face, as younger-him gestures anywhere and everywhere. He points toward Peter, who’s still gripping tightly to Tony. “And who is he? Your, your _kid_? I-” 

“No, I’m, I’m not-” Peter starts to say, and Tony quickly interrupts him. 

“Yeah. He is.” It’s definitive and said so firmly there’s no room for doubt. Peter looks shocked. 

“What, Tony? You can’t, _you know-_ ” It’s just nonsensical babbling and Tony can’t help but cut in again. 

“Totally, kid. You’re even in the will. Future CEO and major shareholder of Stark Industries.” He wasn’t actually, Morg was. But Tony figured it could be 50-50. Speaking of Morg… 

“Where’s Pepper?” Tony asks Peter, because his other-self is still shocked and probably unfunctional right now. “How did- _I_ get here? Where are we, Peter?” His face turns more alarmed as Peter flushes and looks even more sad. “Well, about that-” 

“It’s 2015.” Other-Tony said bluntly. 

“ _What?”_ It’s desperate.. “Say that again.” and he struggled to sit up. Peter pushed him back. “Mister Stark, _please-_ ”  

“No, Pete, you - you don’t get it.” He looks him deep in the eye. “I left - I left Pepper back there, I left _Morgan_ back there- I can’t-” He choked and struggled for air. It hurts to breathe. 

“Morgan?” Both Peter and other-Tony said together, and then looked, disturbed at each other. At least, other-him did. He turned to Peter, not wanting to see that look of utter incomprehension and unrecognition on his own face. 

“My… me and Pepper’s daughter.” He explained and Peter gasped. “I - she’s five.” 

“Oh.” He said, but that was overwhelmed by a surprisingly hurt scoff coming from the corner of the room. 

“Yeah right. Like Pepper would have kids with _us_ .” Other-Tony came closer, getting nearer and nearer to the man sitting, devastated, on that hospital bed. “Like we would have kids. Not with everything that happened.” He spat, a breathe away from Tony’s face. “Not with everything that’s _coming_.” Now, this, is a lost man. 

And Tony can tell what was missing before. This Tony isn’t a father, he hasn’t held life in his hands and never wanted to let go, he hadn’t felt selfless pride for someone else, someone better. He hadn’t had the long night with whispered excuses from a small, cute monster. He hasn’t felt the swoop your stomach does when Peter’s vitals dropped, or when Morgan wasn’t were you had left her moments before. 

To Tony, this man was half of what he was now. And it sickened him. 

(Later, he’d realize it was his self-loathing rearing its head. His therapist would have been very disappointed. _Confront, Connect, Correct._ The three c’s don’t help his disgust.) 

“You know,” he said, his face finally containing something other then unrequited grief, “I always wondered how truly drunk and pathetic as I was. Nice to know.” Sarcasm laces his tongue. He stared Other-Tony right in the eye. “How ‘ya sleeping?” Mockery. 

Other-Tony pushed him back, stunned, his face betrayed. A tear, that Peter barely notices, slipped from his eye. “How dare you,” it’s bitter and broken, “How _dare you_.” 

He moved back from Tony, who’s watching him with an indecipherable look in his eye.

“You know,” Other-Tony says, just before the door to that hospital room, his entire figure rent with tension. His words echo those said moments before. “I always wondered if I’d see my dear old dad again. Nice to see you, _Howard_.” 

Tony flinches, and with a resounding slam, the door closes. 

-

“How is he?” Bruce asks, when Tony comes into the waiting room of the Shield med-lab. The room is small, lit only by dim, cheap hospital lights, and the chairs are a rough green material that hurts his back. “Is he, you know, you?”

Tony just swears harshly, and slumps into one of the chair. He grimaces when his back makes contact with the fabric and glares at Bruce. “I mean, that’s what the DNA tests said, yeah?” His sentence comes out as rough and irritated as the chair Bruce is struggling to sit on. “And now that his condition is stabilized, we can get good ol’ Thor in here and zap them back wherever they came from.” 

Bruce gapes. “What?” Incredulous, he leans closer to Tony, struggling to make him understand. “We have the chance of a lifetime here. Time travel? Real, ” He pauses, amazed and speechless, “actual _time travel_ ? That’s what we’ve been dreaming about studying _forever,_ ever since we were kids-” 

“Maybe you,” Tony interrupts, “but not me. I like my machines, who are predictable and make sense, and are something that I - for once in my life - actually _understand_ . I don’t like… this _stuff._ Leave me to my A.I.s, I’ve always been fine with just…” He trails off. 

“No offense, Tony, but that sentence is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say.” Bruce says bluntly, and now Tony is the one looking surprised. “A couple months ago, you would have be thrilled if your doppelganger - which still blows my mind that that’s even a thing - just showed up out of nowhere. Lately though, I’ve noticed you getting more and more… nervous?” 

Tony scoffed. “Nervous? _Me?_ I’m Tony Stark, Iron Man,” He curled his lip, his expression almost sardonically bitter, “Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. I don’t get _nervous._ ”

“Don’t play with me, Tony. Not with me.” He looked toward Bruce again, and his face was as solemn as it was sad. “You don’t have to pretend anymore.” 

Tony’s face fell, and  he held his head in his hands. “I don’t know, Bruce.” It’s muffled by his hands. “He looks so tired, so _old._ He has a kid,” A disbelieving laugh. “Two of ‘em actually. The way that kid looked at him…” 

His eyes were red with held-in desperation, exhaustion and stress. He sighed. “I’m not him. I might never be. But right now?” A pause. “I can’t get that kid’s face out of my head.” 

-

“Mr. Stark, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking, I-” It comes out as a stuttered mess of a sentence, flitting throughout the room as Tony just… looks at Peter. His face is a blank slate of half-panic, half-relief, and it confuses Peter more than everything else combined. “I just grabbed the green glowy thing - like the Vulture guy’s thing except green and-”

“Peter, calm down.” 

“So now we’re stranded here, and you’re here and so is War Machine, so I thought you were him, but _you_ were you an-”

“Peter, _calm down._ Take a breath.” Tony sat up, wincing slightly, but still able to reach where Peter was fidgeting next to him. “ _Breathe._ ” 

Peter does, one, two, his lungs calming the rest of his body. He slumps, and Tony can clearly see the relief in Peter’s eyes as he looks at him. 

“I’m really glad you’re here, Mr. Stark,” Peter says, and it’s tearful. “I - I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

Tony lit up then, his eyes bright and full of grief. “Me too, kid.” His voice is thick. “Me too.” 

Peter sniffed again, and suddenly the silence that had reigned for mere seconds was broken. Tony wrung his hands, and Peter rubbed the tears out of his eyes. “So kid,” and it’s more casual. “How do we get back home?”

“I might have an answer for you.” They turn. Bruce Banner stares back at them, his eyes wide at the sight, yet confident. He looked at Peter. “You mentioned a glowy thing?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and Comments give me life! 
> 
> (If you like this, you might want to check our my other fic Dust to Dust, here's an excerpt! 
> 
> "When souls combine, certain things are lost. 
> 
> Like souls clash and draw together, whipping around each other in a beautiful internal light show that hisses and sings. Tony Stark, the avoidant doer. Peter Parker, the expressive avoider. These traits mix together into something not quite a colloid, but definitely a solution. 
> 
> But this evolution does not take away what makes Spider-Man and Iron Man each a hero. It does not take away the memories of Peter singlehandedly lifting up a building, alone and scared. It does not take away the memories of Tony Stark holding a good, good man named Yinsen in his arms as the dust and furious shouts swirled around them. It takes away everything, yet nothing at all. 
> 
> All these things are known to the soul stone, and its mission is complete. It holds the souls - one soul, compete and singular - for one last time, and then releases it to the place it needs to go. 
> 
> Back to where it all began. Back to the beginning of the end. 
> 
> I had strings… but now I’m free."

**Author's Note:**

> Comments make my day!! And so do kudos ;-)


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